


Faygo Grape

by SalaciousSister



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Kismesissitude, Asphyxiation, Asshole Gamzee, Breathplay, Bulge Sucking (Homestuck), Bulges (Homestuck), Clown Penis, Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas Moirallegiance, Drowning, Face-Fucking, Huge Dick, M/M, Poor Karkat, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rapist Gamzee, Sleep Deprivation, Sober Gamzee Makara, Sub Dave Strider, dave rambles, mentions of Vietnam, scared karkat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25228468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalaciousSister/pseuds/SalaciousSister
Summary: "It’s amazing how you completely forget that guy’s even here, which is super fucking dangerous given that he could kidnap or kill any of you in your sleep."Dave takes a break from Can-Town to spit some rhymes and turn some tables. Turns out, rhymes won't be the only thing he'll be spitting...
Relationships: Gamzee Makara/Dave Strider, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Faygo Grape

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't and should never be; real, serious, or re-enacted.  
> ~sxs

You were getting kind of sick of Can-Town.

You’ve been here for a while now and it’s kind of scary. It’s just this huge section of a secret asteroid base, covered in chalk and aluminum cans. You seriously need to get out of here. You’ve been talking to yourself in the corner for way too long and the Mayor’s been giving you a look like you can’t be trusted anymore. Maybe you have a weird glint in your eye.

Anyway, you start wandering away from your Can-Can paradise through the fucking labyrinth of concrete.

“Labyrinth is right. Seriously some of halls make next to no sense, let alone a dollar. Rounding corners that go in circles and what not. I mean, it helps that there’s a path of yellow squares on the floor but come on. What good is a yellow brick road to roam if you can’t roll on gold?

Man, I never really got to flex my rhymes much in Can-Town. It’s like silent hill over there and the Mayor is a weird eldritch mini boss that decided to spare me. Guess I rolled a natural 20 on speech check. Which is bullshit by the way. How am I supposed to fight this thing when it’s got an advantage on all seduction rolls?

That’s way too much sex appeal for one freaky little mayor boi. Since when did he get hentai protagonist mind powers, fucking all the hoes and tricks in our party? Somebody call Obama or something, this is a serious threat to national security. Hello, Mr. President? Yeah? We got a sexy little Mayor boy here and imma be real with you he do be looking kinda fresh doe…”

Everyone knows that a walk through the meteor isn’t complete without an awkward encounter. In a rare moment of silence to yourself you turn a corner too quickly and almost collide with someone who freaks the fuck out like a gargoyle baby statue with candy corn horns.

“JEGUSFUCKHOLYSHITMOTHERFUCKER!”

Oh! It’s the scream queen himself; Karkoo Vantoo.

He back pedals into the wall and draws his sickles. Man, he must really be on edge for that kind of response. And you must be slipping like a Wham-O Slip 'N Slide. Seriously did you even try to back up or I don’t know, react in anyway? No?

So, your just gonna keep slip sliding around every corner like a vacation at Water World in Fido and little Jimmy's yellow water, huh? Man, you're fucking weird. I don't think this is what Uncle Buck meant when he said we were doing watersports today. Pick up your game, kid!

“Dave? DAVE! Where in the fuck have you been for the past 2 weeks?” His voice sounds tired.

“Uh. Can-Town, dude. What’s with the Metal Gear Solid treatment man? No dab? No hug? No homie love?” you hold your chest all offended like he just broke up with you. “I’m hurt.”

The troll puts his sickles away growling something about how stupid you are. Rude. “Well, Strider. While you were busy with your City-Simulator Marathon, Staring; Midget Troll Will Smith-“

“Hey, don’t talk shit on the Mayor. He’s at least a Will Smith-Michael Cera fusion; at the absolute very least.” You clarify.

“Sorry. Right, whatever. I’m not sure if or how you would even forget but we are currently being hurled at high speeds towards certain doom while-“

A sound goes off somewhere that you don’t hear. It’s most likely one of the dream bubbles drifting by or absolutely nothing at all. Whatever it is, it scares the horns off Karkat. His eyes get super wide and orange while he gets into a crazy battle stance.

 _“Did you hear that?”_ _he snaps._ He uses a voice you’ve never heard him use before. It’s like his voice is made out of paper or something. Is he _whispering?_ That is the most cursed shit ever.

You gesture with a silent “wot?”

 _“I thought…”_ He pauses and blinks. “I thought I heard him.”

Oh. Oh man. You got me fucked up. This is some serious post-trauma shit, like for real. He’s looking at every shadow like it’s got a knife and running his hands through his hair until some of it comes out. You should’ve known that the circles around his eyes wasn’t make up. Well, you already knew that but still.

“Dude, when was the last time you went to sleep?” he twitches when you speak but doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are still fixed on a vent cover like it killed his best friend or something.

“…What? I- Yeah. I got sleep yesterday, plenty of sleep. Why?” His attention slowly zones back in on you but he’s still stiff.

“Bullshit. What, are you sleeping for 2 hours a day or something?”

He blinks at you. “Hours?”

“Bruh.” You don’t know much about troll sleep cycles, but you know that it has to be longer than 5 fucking minutes or however little time he gets.

He groans and starts to explain. “It- It’s not like when I stayed up for weeks on end because it was ‘My duty a leader’ or whatever, it’s not even nightmares or the bubbles. I legitimately cannot get a single, isolated half-hour of unconsciousness because of how noisy it gets.”

“Noisy?”

“Yes. Excess sound; noisy. But- It’s never you or Terezi or anyone else. It’s always _him_.”

He looks at the empty vent again. “It’s not even the honking that gets me anymore, it’s the sound of _meat, dripping,_ and the _scratching_ and… He keeps saying that he’ll do things, in whispers and when the lights flicker I-“ Your hand lands soft on his back and he jolts.

“Hey, listen to me.” Jesus fucking Christ, he’s cold. “I get that it’s hard and all but, it’s really quiet down in Can-Town. There’s not too many vent’s over there. Maybe you should spend a few nights down there?”

His eyes light up a little while his eyebrows arch like a bloodied alley cat that just came across a thrown out take-out container. He blinks rapidly for a second with his eyes all glossy and tinted red. “Are you sure?”

You raise lift your shades for a second to give him an “Absolutely.” which seems to ease his paranoia. “Can-Town ain’t clown-grounds, it’s a straight up fortress. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s scared of the mayor or something. As he should be.”

You see him smile a little which is another thing that almost looks strange on him but it’s not something you haven’t seen before. “But yo. Promise me you’ll get some sleep, man. I don’t want to walk in on you laid out on the floor like a fucking rag doll again alright?”

You point him towards the yellow chalk road that you came from. You share a sweet little platonic bro-hug and he makes one of those weird cat noises that trolls do sometimes. You part ways and watch him walk off excited for a chance to relax.

**= >**

After a serious bro talk, you keep on keepin on down the halls. You pass by a bunch of weird finger paints on the wall and random treasure chests but no teleporter/telepad/who gives a fuck. You of course ask great philosophical riddles like, “Are apples tree babies? Is AJ fetus juice? Is this toddler vore?” and of course the most important: “The fuck am I talking about?”

You recognize a flyer for a group meeting half-taped to a threshold and very soon you’re rewarded with a weird spirograph symbol on the floor. “Oh shit. Someone call Scotty and give him the pink slip. I’m beaming like a spotlight.” You step onto the device and continue into a ramble.

“Wait, holy fuck. We can’t telefrag each other, can we? Dude imagine just chilling out with some hella fresh hotties and right outta fuckin nowhere your buddy Craig splatters all over you. Wait, what if it’s worse? What if they merge like that one Big Game: Liquid Slam commercial? No. Nope. Face fuck that. With 9 inches of dick at least."

A voice comes from behind you. "Hello, David." You can hear the smile in her voice.

There she is, Rose Lalonde. She’s sitting at the table with that huge tome of hers next to the brass tube thingy that you’re sure is a phonograph or something. On the other side of the table is Kanaya with a similar look on her face, a little more confused. She must’ve caught the end of your little ramble there.

Oh- hold up.

Oh _yeah_. Fuck yeah. You smell that. That wasn't a question that's a god damn prophecy come true; the overwhelming stench of constantly bitter coffee, that's a stench that everyone loves, hell yes. Your spine does a little jig it’s so happy. Fuck it’s good to be back. 

You do a little theatre bow. "What be up with thee, M'Lalonde?"

She does that posh giggle of hers. "Je ne t'ai pas vu depuis longtemps, mon oh si gracieux chevalier du temps."

"Damn, I'm swoon. Speakin french like, ‘What that tongue do?’” You have no idea what she's saying you guarantee it’s probably something really flattering. She's modest like that.

“So, David” Rose starts. “You’ve been absent for a considerable amount of time.” She notes.

“Forgive me, Lady Ladonna. I was chesticals deep in a miniature and sick-nasty constructed of a city constructed of tin cylinders."

She snickers "The land of tall circles?" Kanaya looks at her with a side grin. "So, fair knight. What brought you back here to the common kingdom?"

You step off the teleporter and lean back against the table with your elbows. "So, you know Can-Town right?" She nods.

"I'll be 420% honest with you, I didn't know we had that many cans.”

**Dave: Chitter chatter about jibber jabber**

You go on for a while.

“Like, we have skyscrapers now, and 3 main parks. It’s a whole can dimension filled with chalk and duct-tape spanning what's gotta be at least a mile’s worth. It's crazy, like some straight up body-snatchers level can population. Feels like any day now I'm gonna wake up the only non-can person here you know?

But yeah. You know how the Mayor gets about his associates and mayor-folk. He needs to keep his soldiers alive, can't be caught slipping like in Nam'. Holy shit was Nam’ bad. That was some sloppy shit back there, like how the fuck do you fumble a frag twice? Aren't those things designed to be easy to hold? And what the fuck was he doing with a ‘nade on the shitter anyway? I bet he just wanted to see the port-a-potty explode, huh?

I won't lie, I had some cravings for a bit of chocolate rain myself but that's what my will is for; keeping me in check, ya know? The draft was too much for me you see, I just had to get the fuck out of there, but I couldn't go home, not after confessing to lighting a bag of my own shit and starting that village fire. Okay, it was really more of a flame war than a village fire.

Fine, I’ll be honest, a real truther: So, we pinned our flamethrower guy against theirs. There, happy? I confess, I did it, lock me away. Not gonna lie that was epic. Now, was it ethical? Well that depends on if you’re running Phlog-pyro or not. I mean like, give us a chance to at least leave spawn first, how is that even fun? It doesn’t even make a lick of doggone sense; how are you critical with a fucking flamethrower? What are you, a firebender? How-“

"David.”

What? When? Where? What time is it? Holy shit this is so not cool. Your thoughts start to reassemble, and you remember where you are… Did someone just call your name? Oh, that’s right, you were talking to Rose about Can-Town. When did you start talking about Vietnam? What are you, senile?

“So basically, what happened was…” You say trying to recover. “I lost track of time.” Damn. That was a rough recovery, the kids are gonna remember that one in therapy. What is that the third relapse this month?

“So, none of you ladies touched my wheels of steel, right? I know that sounds selfish to have a specific set of tables but as a knight it’s a necessity to have a connection to a table of some kind. That’s the rules.”

They almost answer but something interrupts them; that sound again. It’s a little louder and it definitely isn’t a dream bubble this time. It’s sharp and quick, it fades in and out in a second. It sounds like shoes squeaking on a basketball court while someone shakes a can full of needles in the background. It super fucking disconcerting.

Why do you hear boss music?

Oh, wait. That’s just Kanaya Maryam’s Lipstick-Chainsaw hybrid growling like a hungry Doberman. Rose is pulling at her arm trying to stop her from putting any more holes in this place than necessary. It’s amazing how you completely forget that guy’s even here, which is super fucking dangerous given that he could kidnap or kill any of you in your sleep.

You leave the interspecies couple to figure out if someone really is going to die or if they should just make out again. Worst case scenario someone gets wounded or turned around in the halls. No biggie. You move over to your little spot, a little corner in the common room where you keep your actual turntables for mixing. Let’s see here…

Oh shit! You forgot you even had Onyx in your collection, hell yeah. It’s getting old school in here, let’s get some Slick Rick and DMX too. You prepare to make the most bomb ass mix tape in all of Paradox Space.

**Dave: Be the clown**

You’ve been waiting for this chance all week. A chance for a little recreation time. You _was_ planning on getting a taste of heretical cherry punch but this chatter mouth bitch had to go and send him off to that democratic motherfucker. You ain’t a punk or nothing but them tiny hands freak you the fuck out, and them rags. Motherfucker looking like king of the baseheads in this shit.

You done switched gears and started hawking this kid up until a little while ago and you gotta say, the enemy’s got a tight seal on his ignorance tunnel. Looking like a pocket seed flap. You was planning on using them that way too. Since that jade dyke took off the wrong way a long way’s away, it’s just you and this pretty pair of lips on this cherry motherfucker.

He all up and looking like pink taffy, just begging to get touched by a motherfucker like you. You in a vent right above him ready to cave this grate in and fuck his chug column like a loose pail handler. You can’t front though; he’s got some skill on them slam tables. Your strutpod taps to the beat while you count down to drop. 1… 2… 1… 2… 3…

“…Welcome to my dojo, the preachy teachy ozone. I’m Mr. Samurai ninja, on the run to gettcha. This shogun bangs, bust you in like a shotgun, to a teller at the bank, when the vault goes-“

***CLANK***

This motherfucker’s thinkpan slams into the desk like a stickball.

His shades go flying when his head cracks the wood and his hand gots a blade in it before his aviators hit the floor. You stomp his wrist limp, snatch his blade, and toss that shit. You push him up against the wall and get one of his hands under your foot and catch the other one like it wasn’t nothing. Now he’s shaking and yelling like a bitch and he squeals when one of his wrists snap under your heel.

You don’t feel like getting your explaining business on, so you just get to pulling out your bulge. He doesn’t like that. This kid starts wiggling and crying for help and what not, Like anyone close is gonna hear that noise.

"Fuck, Fuck, Shit, FUCK! Help! Kanaya! Hel- Omp! Grlk!"

His eyes blow up wide when you clog his windpipe which gets to wringing you out right away. You don’t get started yet though; you want him to get lose first. Make him earn a chance to breathe. His dull teeth can’t bite down hard enough, and his weak throat can’t close up tight enough. You watch while he kicks and strangles on your bone bulge, drowning in your pail filling. Purple oozes from the corners of his mouth in bubbles while the gurgling gets louder.

Once his sorry eyes lose focus and his legs stop kicking, you pull on back to let him make way for some air. He doesn’t start breathing right away though so, you kick him in his gut to kickstart his bellowsacs. He gets to coughing and spilling bile all over himself like a sick wiggler and you get ready to start the real show after he gets his first big breath in.

He makes a sweet little sound when you smack his head into the wall with your hips. It’s like a meowbeast sneezing, while being strangled, underwater. He ain’t got horns so you gotta grab his hair to get a good flow going. What little wiggle room you got in his mouth splashes more purple stuff on his face. You notice that he’s got the most sinful ruby eyes when you look down at your personal-

Oh…

You grin but you really want to laugh. To be honest you really didn’t think humans had the pusher for this shit but here he is pitching a circus tent the size of a big top in his trousers. If you had the time, you’d pail him on the table but you’re on the clock. You let go of his hand which goes limp for a second before it starts clawing at you like a dirt rat to a mountain.

You pull back again but not all the way, this time you push hard, in and down. You squeeze down hard with both hands round his neck and it makes a wet click sound and makes him jolt. It’s so fucking tight it makes your bulge spaz out like it’s claustrophobic and sends white flashes to your eyes while you pour hot fresh slurry straight to his guts.

Your legs almost give up on you it’s so intense. You’re growling and your chucklevoodoos are sparking like a storm. Heat washes you like the sun and leaves and icy cool air to bathe in. You lean up against the wall over him to catch your breath. It’s been a while since you dumped off a load like that, especially in something so fucking tight. You might catch a habit with this motherfucker…

Oh, yeah. That’s right; air.

You pull out and step back to watch him toss his lunch out like a bratty little bitch. His portion sizes might be a little too much for him, it stops looking like a puddle and more like a small flood the longer he goes on. You can tell he doesn’t pull all of it out even after the heaving, he’s still drooling, and his hacking and coughing is wet.

You think about going another round and maybe even bodysnatching this motherfucker but the smell of flowers and oil burns through the air too quick for your liking. You ain’t no fool, that motor blade bitch is coming back. Damn, you wish you caught this flesh load gaper when he was still fucking around in the halls. You climb back up into the air duct and get the fuck on like they ain’t never heard of you.

You leave him slumped against the wall soaking up in a puddle of your purple rain, blowing bubbles and wheezing.

**KO’D.**

**Author's Note:**

> took me awhile. i might make a follow up chapter or something. idk.


End file.
